Hurt
by Zothar
Summary: The Crusaders are gone. Overwatch has been disbanded. And one old knight is forced to come to terms with his new... or is he? A song fic with Hurt (Johnny Cash version).


_What have I become_

Reinhardt Wilhelm bolted upright in his bed, chest heaving as his breath came in gasps. Slowly the images began to fade around him as the dark room came into focus: a desk, a chair, the curtains, his bed. He was not back on the battlefield, fighting for his life alongside his comrades.

He was alone in a house that was far too big.

A hand rose to rub the sleep from his eyes; there would be no more rest tonight. Once the nightmares started only the light of day would drive them off. Joints groaned and cracked in protest as he forced his body from the warm bed and plodded towards the open foyer.

 _My sweetest friend_

The hallway was lined with pictures. From the Crusaders to Overwatch, his entire military career was displayed proudly along its walls. Some were professional, with stoic faces and perfect posture. Others were candid and more relaxed, catching the twinkle in someone's eye as they laughed at a joke told or mischief as another dumped a bucket of ice on their comrade.

All regaled him of times past, both good and bad. Each had a memory attached to them, every face. Reinhardt had always been good with faces.

He was beginning to forget a few now.

As the hallway went on the pictures of the Crusaders became fewer and fewer, until much like the group they ceased completely. Shortly afterwards the pictures of Overwatch ended as well; the final fifteen feet of hallway was bare. It had been left open for chronicles of more adventures, but after his retirement there had been nothing to fill its void.

 _Everyone I know goes away in the end_

He wasn't sure what the drink quite was; it had been a birthday gift from Torbjorn. The bittersweet taste had reminded him of the short man, and even now he smiled a bit. Tilting his head back, he allowed the liquid to burn the back of his throat.

Closing his eyes was a mistake; immediately his tired mind returned to what had awoken it in the first place. Omnics' guns rattling off death, terrorists causing mayhem and chaos, the eyes of his fallen brothers and sisters in battle, and the graves of his family in Overwatch. It almost made him choke, and he had to gasp for breath. No matter how much time had passed, on nights like these it always came back just as strong.

Why was he always the one to walk away alone? Why couldn't he have died out there with them?

They are dark thoughts, he knows. The world is a dark place.

 _And you can have it all; my empire of dirt_

He hates this prison, because to him, that's all it is.

Not a castle, not a house, and certainly not a home. What was that saying, home is where the heart is? If that were true, then his home was out on the battlefield with his family. It was on the blood-soaked grounds of Eichenwalde with the Crusaders. It was at Watchpoint, Gibraltar where even now he was sure Winston stood, always vigilant. It was any one of a thousand places where men, woman and children had lived, laughed, cried, and died.

It was not here. Not in the hollow memories of everything that no longer was, of his own demons and ghosts. This was no home.

 _I will let you down; I will make you hurt_

His eyes slowly drifted to the far corner of the room. The faces of Ana, Gabriel, and Jack stared back at him, expressions unchanging. They had never found any of them; Gabriel and Jack from the explosion and Ana from a mission only months before. Now their pictures adorned a special corner, a paltry monument to three of the greatest people he'd ever known.

He hadn't been there when the building came down on Morrison and Reyes' heads. If he had, he was sure he could have done something. Could have protected them. Instead he was off somewhere else, doing something so insignificant that he couldn't even remember what it was.

He sighed, eyes falling as he sipped the drink once more.

 _If I could start again, a million miles away…_

Despite his best efforts, he felt his eyes growing heavy once more. His head dipped as they closed completely, and he was plunged once more into the darkness of his past.

This time, however, it was different. There were not the shrieks of pain and suffering, the smell of the dead and dying in the air. Instead the world around him was dark and cold. Men, women and children wandered here and there, downtrodden and beaten, unable to find their way.

Slowly, one by one, their eyes rose to meet his. Expectation filled their faces, the faintest glimmer of hope in their eyes.

 _I would keep myself_

He awoke with a start, pulled from the surreal world back into his lonely castle. A slight shiver traveled through his body, and he was forced to blink several times as he thought about what he'd just seen.

It wouldn't be easy. But then again, since when did he chase easy?

With new, almost foreign resolve, he stood and deposited the glass on the table nearest him. Making his way quickly down the halls, he pushed open the door to his armory.

It was still there, in all the gleaming cleanliness he'd left it in. Reinhardt smirked.

A good set of armor should never be spotless.

Overwatch and the Crusaders might be gone, but he wasn't. And as long as he still had breath, he had a duty to lead the people of the world towards a better place.

 _I will find a way._


End file.
